Twenty Eight Blitzwings
by Rebecca Hb
Summary: G1: The 28 Blitzwing ficlets I'm writing for the 28s meme on LJ, about one of my favorite triple changers. Genre ranges all over the place, and chapters are not necessarily related. Slash and het warned for in chapter titles.
1. Bath Time

**Bath Time Blitzwing**

# # #

"You're filthy," Astrotrain informed him when he got back to the rendezvous point. The shuttle stood up to his thighs in a natural plasma pool, scrubbing off the half-melting metal, organic gore, and mud covering his armor. From what Blitzwing recalled of the other triple-changer's dossier, he had very _good_ thermal armor, which explained why his own metal wasn't melting off.

"Can't do much about it." Blitzwing dripped oil, mud, and gore, and he could feel it oozing into his joints. "Some of us aren't rated for temperatures that high."

So far, he liked the other triple-changer. It wasn't often he got assigned to work with others of his kind, and most of them were newbs who needed imprinting. Astrotrain was almost as old as he was and knew how to do his job without Blitzwing holding his hand. Which was just as well; Blitzwing didn't do transportation.

Astrotrain smirked and waded out of the pool. "I'm not letting you inside me like that."

Oh, yeah, one other point in Astrotrain's favor - he looked _good_. Whatever technicians had put him together had actually known a thing or two about aesthetics. "And what are you-"

Astrotrain grabbed him by the hip and upper arm, shifted slightly, and tossed him into one of the plasma pools. Blitzwing howled and leapt out as soon as he could, the filth and his paint steaming off him and into the atmosphere. The shuttle just laughed at him.

Point number four in Astrotrain's favor - he was a bastard.

**End**


	2. Book Reading

**Book-Reading Blitzwing**

# # #

Snapflux paced back and forth in the admittedly tiny quarters he shared with Blitzwing. The other triple-changer ignored him; he sat on his berth with an artist's drafting pad covering his lap.

"How do you handle it?" Snapflux threw himself down on his berth. "How do you handle doing _absolutely nothing_ while we wait for orders?"

"Read."

"... Uh?"

"Cybertron's got sixteen different alphabets for communicating with organic life. Download 'em and get a drafter's pad loaded with data-translator programs. You can read news and status updates for hours." Blitzwing didn't look up from his pad.

"Oh."

"And if you get done with that, there's editorials."

"Oh."

"There's a whole lot of information out there that takes time to process."

Snapflux nodded. "I... guess that makes sense."

"Yeah. Now quit your bitching. Ninety percent of soldiering is waiting."

**End**


	3. Kick Ass

**Kick-Ass Blitzwing**

"You! Get down to the training arena now!" Blitzwing pointed a finger at the Decepticon in question, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the arena. "We're gonna spar."

Saberstorm glanced over his shoulder. "How could you possibly think that, triple-changer?"

"With swords." Yeah, ignore that I'm your superior officer, leech, Blitzwing thought.

"You? A swordsmech? Heh. Well, don't think I'll go easy on you because you're a beginner," The jet sneered, but he turned to follow Blitzwing down to the arena. Good thing for him, too, since Blitzwing would have just trashed him right there in the hall if he'd refused a second time. Risking a court-martial was _worth_ it for what this idiot had pulled. Blitzwing didn't like guaranteed kills getting turned into escaping Autobots.

They headed down to the arena, Saberstorm stalking along behind him. The jet always stalked, which set Astrotrain on edge. He didn't like it when someone acted like they were still on the battlefield when they were back at base. (Millenia later, if Blitzwing ever thought of Saberstorm while on Earth, he was thankful that Breakdown had never met the jet.) Astrotrain on edge meant Blitzwing got snarled at, sucker-punched, and generally irritated into leaving their shared quarters.

Inside the arena, Saberstorm went to stand in one of the smaller sparring circles. Blitzwing grunted and went over to the rack of practice weapons. Decent enough weapons, all in condition to kill someone... if you were _really_ good. Few Transformers would do better with a practice weapon than with a half-charged blaster when fighting for their life.

Saberstorm was one of them.

Blitzwing caught the movement as the jet flicked his ailerons. Not quite blatant enough to be an insult; he _could_ have been just checking their functionality.

But then he opened his mouth. "A practice weapon, Blitzwing? Don't you have a _real_ sword?"

Was the jet really that stupid? Blitzwing looked at him silently, the churning unpleasantness in his mind finally solidifying around one idea. Some people liked to collect bodyparts from their enemies as trophies; well, he'd take Saberstorm's wings.

The jet's ailerons flicked again as he watched, a bit faster than before, almost nervously. He wondered why; only later, when he got a look at the security footage, would he realize that his fury had been written all across his face in that moment.

He reached over his shoulder and drew his sword out of the subspace compartment in his turret. It ignited as he stepped into the ring, a wash of energy running from the guard to the tip of the blade. Anyone who knew anything about blades would recognize the signature activation of an electron scimitar. They disrupted electrical systems with even a near miss of the blade. There were perhaps a dozen of the swords in existence, all hand-built by Shockwave for his favored warriors.

Any swordsmech worth his core would kill to get their hands on one, something Blitzwing had used to his advantage before.

The jet's optics brightened as he pulled out a pair of his own swords. Neither was the monomolecular-edged sword he'd used in the battle earlier, Blitzwing noted, but they were still plenty sharp. Both energo-swords; long, slightly-curved blades with a simple hilt. Master's swords. They made Blitzwing's sword look clunky in comparision, but the triple-changer himself often looked clunky compared to jet'formers. The thing was, he was a hell of a lot stronger than any of them.

The triple-changer would get some gashes in his armor before this was all over. Saberstorm would get his wings torn off. He considered it a fair trade.

The ring on the floor hummed softly and a low-level forcefield formed a pillar from floor to ceiling. Strong enough to keep a mech from getting casually knocked out of the ring, but not strong enough to prevent a more forcible exit.

They began to stalk around the edge of the ring. Well, Saberstorm stalked. Blitzwing didn't have the proper kind of feet for stalking; he didn't really have feet at all. But when you could fly, feet weren't all that necessary.

Saberstorm darted forward suddenly, and Blitzwing charged. Metal screeched against metal, the Seeker hastily crossing his swords to parry and hold Blitzwing's blade away from his head. It wasn't enough, not with the strength behind Blitzwing's blow. The jet had to almost drop to his knees in his effort to hold the blade away from him. His left optic flickered on and off spasmodically, the energon scimitar just close enough to affect it.

The jet kicked out, catching Blitzwing in the abdomen with a clang. It didn't even dent the triple-changer, but then Saberstorm activated his thruster-heel. Heat seared Blitzwing's paint away and scorched his armor, and the two mechs tumbled apart.

Saberstorm lunged while Blitzwing was still recovering his balance, snapping his right-hand sword up and across- neatly slicing Blitzwing's throat.

The triple-changer snarled and knocked Saberstorm into the forcefield. The jet's wing hit at the wrong angle with a very audible crack. To his credit, though, Saberstorm didn't cry out, didn't even flex the wing. Just dropped back into a ready position.

So, the jet was as good as he'd thought. Maybe a little better. Blitzwing swiped the back of his hand across his throat, flicked the spilled lubricant into the forcefield. It evaporated with a sizzle.

Saberstorm's head didn't so much as twitch towards the sound. Heh.

Blitzwing leapt into the air, sword raised to hew the jet from head to foot as he descended. Saberstorm's optics flashed in a blink even as he kicked off from the ground himself. They clashed in mid-air, Blitzwing's sword smashing down towards the jet's face-

- The Seeker half-turned to evade the blow, thrust a sword into Blitzwing's wing and smacked Blitzwing's arm with the other- And then they were past each other.

Both whirled, the jet just a half-second faster than Blitzwing. Their blades smashed together a little too close for comfort, throwing off sparks, and then they broke apart again. Blitzwing barely had time to grin before the jet threw himself forward once more. Sword hit sword in a flurry of exchanged blows, too many of Saberstorm's strikes getting through his defenses. Long gashes and cuts appeared on Blitzwing's arms, but he managed to parry the most dangerous blows. And then Saberstorm zigged when he should have zagged-

- Blitzwing smashed his sword down on the jet's wing, grunted as it snagged midway through and jarred his shoulder, _twisted_ the blade, and hacked off a quarter of one haze-grey wing. The jet howled and cut his thrusters. Even as he dropped, his swords slashed out and cut into Blitzwing. A finger and three finger-joints from the triple-changer's left hand clattred to the floor.

"You've got chutzpah, triple-changer." Saberstorm spit lubricant on the ground. "I'd love to meet you on a real battlefield."

Then he lunged into the air again, blades flashing.

* * *

Astrotrain took a drink from his cube and leaned back, watching Blitzwing mount a haze-grey wing on the wall. The wing had a hole punched clean through it, and the side usually attached to the rest of the jet was one long ragged tear.

"Art protesting the mass production of certain Transformer lines?" He guessed.

Blitzwing paused to stare at him, pressing his stump-arm hard into the wing to keep it from sliding down the wall. "No."

"Then what?"

"Saberstorm."

"Enh." Astrotrain took another drink.

**End**


	4. Naive: Twist Slash

**Naive Blitzwing**

_Gasp-wingquiver. "What- what are you doing?"_

_"What's it feel like?" Cool hands slinking over his turret and barrel-_

_"I- I don't know! Why do you think I'm asking?"_

_The doubled voice husking in his audial- "Haven't you ever done this before?"_

_"No!"_

_"Oh, good."_

* * *

"Blitzwing!"

The triple-changer glanced up from his reading. "What, 'Train?"

Astrotrain snatched the drafting pad away and broke it across his knee. "Where'd you get my files? Why are you _reading_ my files?"

"Was bored." And now he'd have to get something else to read on.

Astrotrain looked at him oddly. "That's it? You were **bored**?"

"Yeah."

"And... You've got nothing else to say?" He looked almost hopeful, but Blitzwing couldn't think of why. Astrotrain was pretty weird sometimes, though, up to and including his megalomaniac delusions.

"You write some weird stuff."

Astrotrain's shoulders slumped, and he turned towards the door. "Yeah. Yeah. Guess I do. I'll grab you another pad from storage."

... Okay. That was bizarre. "You do that."

**End**


	5. Dancing: Implied Het

**Dancing Blitzwing**

A/N: Catechism belongs to Lunatron, and is used with her permission.

* * *

"Dance with me," Catechism hissed into his audial.

Blitzwing glanced at the gun the coneheaded Seeker held against the side of his head. As lovely as his new favorite was, she'd been asking him to do this for the past week. He always gave her the same answer, and he didn't see why it should change now. "Blitzwing-"

"Is going to dance with me." She patted his turret familiarly. "Our favorite pastel Seeker wants to offend the establishment by dancing with the 'wrong sorts'."

Blitzwing looked blankly at her.

"Coneheads are very much the 'wrong sorts' for traditional Seeker dances. Well, we're going to one-up them by having a triple-changer **and** a conehead!" She chuckled. "We're also going to do it on Earth."

"If you want to offend them so much," he growled, "Why not get a Stunticon?"

"Tut, tut." Catechism rubbed the base of his gun. "Stunticons can't dance Seeker dances."

**End**


	6. Turned On: Het

**Turned-On Blitzwing**

A/N: Catechism belongs to Lunatron and is used with permission.

* * *

The battle was almost over, just the fliers sweeping up any Autobot stragglers. Down below, most of the ground-mode Decepticons were doing their own mopping up: grabbing trophies, grabbing interesting weapons, or just desecrating a particularly hated enemy.

One particular mech, assigned to the ground troops for this particular battle, stood on a pile of corpses and watched a peculiar flier trine wing by overhead. One pastel yellow pyramid-jet, one grey F-35B, and one grey B-1B. He still wasn't quite sure how a bomber fit into a normal flier-trine, but he didn't argue with them. Not after having to deal with a sulky Catechism for the days leading up to this battle.

Speaking of whom, she probably had no idea how the searchlights kept glinting off her underbelly and wings. Nowhere near as nice as when she reduced some of the new Autobot jets to flaming scraps of metal, but it... kept up his interest.

Ah, she'd finally noticed him. The grey Seeker spun down and transformed to robot-mode. "Why are you still here?"

Blitzwing grinned and shifted slightly as the Autobot corpse he stood on slid a little. "Just watching you fly, Catechism."

"Mm-hmm."

He held out his fuel-stained hand, still grinning. She took hold of it, and he yanked her down into a kiss.

**End**


	7. Horny: One Sided Slash

**Horny Blitzwing**

# # #

"Astrotrain..."

The triple-changer perked up, glad for this particular distraction from his writing. He knew that tone of Blitzwing's: his friend was looking for someone to shove against the wall and shag. Just the sort of thing Astrotrain was in the mood for, really. He turned over on the berth and smirked sexily. "Yeah?"

Blitzwing had propped himself up on one elbow on his own berth, datapad across his lap. "Have you seen Catechism?"

The smirk faded. Evidently someone was still pissed off at him for pretending to be a god on Titan. "I think she's on a mission."

"Still?"

"She only left yesterday," Astrotrain pointed out testily.

"Oh. Right." Blitzwing stared at the wall for a few minutes, then turned back to his datapad.

Astrotrain stared at him and thought of what exactly he'd like to do if Blitzwing would just take the anvil-sized hints he'd been dropping for the last five years. "You know, Blitzwing, she's not the only person in the Decepticon Empire that might be interested..."

Blitzwing looked puzzled briefly, then his face cleared and he grinned at the other triple-changer. "You're right, 'Train! And Dirge looks kind of like her, too."

Someone **really** hated him for that stunt. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, too.

**End**


	8. Well Shagged: Slash

**Well Shagged Blitzwing**

# # #

Starscream wriggled in Blitzwing's grip. "Let go of me, you-!"

The triple-changer smirked and shifted the Seeker's null rays farther away from his vitals. He didn't want to let the white Seeker go sooner than he had to; it felt far too _good_ to capture Starscream and hold him down. Especially when that ground the Seeker's nosecone against his chest, and Starscream started making those needy little gasps again.

"Blitzwing...!" The dark-faced Seeker bit his cheek, hardly doing more than scrape the metal. Transformers didn't even have jaws as strong as humans. "We don't have time for this!"

"Sure we do," he rumbled. "Ain't like anybody expects us back until next week."

"Let go!" Starscream flailed, pushing at his chest. Delicate little thing like him couldn't hope to break the triple-changer's grip, though.

Blitzwing chuckled and rolled over, pressing the Seeker into the mud. "Thought you jets got over your claustrophobia long time ago..."

"I am going to kill yo- mmph!"

Seekers were so easy to shut up, Blitzwing thought. He pulled back and rested his forehead against Starscream's helm. "You," he husked, "Are the greatest Decepticon jet to ever live. You are smart, you are powerful, you are skilled, you are _beautiful_. A little mud won't change that."

"Flatterer." But Starscream settled down, almost smiling. "Roll over. You're too heavy."

**End**


	9. Caring

**Caring Blitzwing**

# # #

No one was exactly sure how it happened, though the Constructicons blamed it on poorly-designed safety interlocks in the transwarp flux capacitor, and Shockwave blamed it on shoddily-constructed safety interlocks in the transwarp flux capacitor. Then they'd get to shouting at each other, and eventually Soundwave would just kill the connection and go sulk in his quarters.

Almost despite themselves, headway was being made on fixing the problem of all three major members of the Earth-Decepticon command structure suddenly having the minds and bodies of teenage versions of themselves. No one had ventured any theories as to how that actually worked, as the physical stages of pubescent developement had no bearing on the way Transformers built shells.

But they still had short and scrawny versions of Megatron, Starscream, and Soundwave wandering around. Starscream was the best of the lot, in Blitzwing's opinion, because the jet didn't seem to have changed much. He just hung out with the other jets until they called him a windling one too many times, he pitched a temper fit, and then he crawled into Blitzwing or Astrotrain's berth for cuddling.

Soundwave seemed to feel that blasting angsty metal music at odd hours of a shift was amusing. Or that sneaking up on whomever was standing watch and the mimicking voices and conversations to mess with his head was amusing. Soundwave was a little bastard, really. By the third day of having him around like this, everyone in the crew had unanimously told Scrapper to stop farking around with energy raids and fix the Big Three.

Megatron tended to get the most bogglement, though. As soon as Scrapper had figured out what was going on, he'd shoved a pair of needles and a ball of wire into the miniature warlord's hands and told him to sit quietly in Medical.

And Megatron had done so, seemingly quite content to knit until something more interesting happened. He went through wire like an evil knitting machine straight from the Inferno, and what he knitted varied from interesting to but-why. Though, he had a nice optic for making cloaks - Astrotrain growled whenever anyone got within three feet of his beautifully cabled chainmail one. Skywarp seemed to have made a nest out of his, Thundercracker's, and Reflector's.

After a week of Megatron knitting, though, bogglement faded. Him sitting in the corner of Medical with Scavenger running around to keep him supplied with wire and specialty tools was much less worrying than where Soundwave had gotten to. Or that Starscream kept hanging around with Soundwave. Those two gave each other ideas, as poor Dirge had found out.

Now, finding Megatron sitting in your quarters after you've just been shot almost to the Hall of Heroes and back, that was worrying.

"What're you doing here?" Blitzwing growled.

The smaller mechanism leaned back on the stool, balancing it on two legs. "I thought you'd be able to answer my question, Blitzwing. Well, at least marginally better than the Constructicons could."

"Hnh." Blitzwing stuffed a bit of wiring back into one wing.

"Why does Prime trash-talk whenever he faces me?"

Megatron's sharp face betrayed only disinterested curiosity, but Blitzwing wasn't quite fool enough to think that was all he felt. The triple-changer picked his words carefully. "It's very... personal between you two. As long as you both live, the War will never end."

"Hm." Megatron leaned forward abrubtly, almost overbalancing the stool. "Why doesn't he just kill me then? He's had opportunities."

"Don't know."

Megatron nodded and slid off the stool. He barely came up to Scapper's chin, and only came to mid-chest on the triple-changer. It made Blitzwing's relays twitch to see their leader so small and scrawny-looking. It would be so easy to snap his neck...

Except it really wouldn't be. Onslaught had abducted Megatron for a sparring session briefly on the second day, and the little tyrant had owned all five of the Combaticons. No one had entertained any thoughts of... unpleasantness after that.

The little warlord stalked out of his room, pausing only briefly next to Blitzwing. The triple-changer yelped when he felt the small hand curl around his main gun and pump it briefly, and Megatron laughed before he took off back for Medical.

**End**


	10. Naughty: Slash

**Naughty Blitzwing**

# # #

Jason Norrington stuck the coffee pouch back on the velcro-patch near his workstation and glanced out a window. He blinked and pushed himself closer to the window, trying not to disrupt his experiment. He watched for a little while, then reached for his radio headset. "Mikhail, there's a MIG outside the space-station."

"Ah, you just noticed?" Mikhail sounded amused. "I am in the Kvant-2 module and have been watching him and his shuttle-friend for the past hour. If you come back here, you will get a good look at them."

"Uh-huh." Jason craned his neck as a grey space shuttle went past his window, seemingly in hot pursuit of the MIG. "That's **not** an American shuttle."

"You can only see his belly where you are, yes? Be pleased." An edge of warning entered Mikhail's voice.

The MIG flew by again, and Jason caught sight of a sigil on its wings. "That symbol...?"

"-Is purple, yes."

Jason gulped and reached for his coffee packet. "Huh."

"We are hopeful they are merely playing. It could go quite badly for us if they are not-" The Russian broke off, then made a surprised sound. "The jet has transformed."

Jason craned his neck. He could just make out the robot now, the shuttle sliding into the space behind him.

"-And now the shuttle has as well. They are-"

Jason could **hear** Mikhail's blink. "You know," he said sardonically. "Back home, we get the hose if people start doing that on our front lawn."

**End**


	11. Jealous: Slash

**Jealous Blitzwing**

# # #

Blitzwing stepped away from the door into Rodimus Prime's quarters. Then he took another step and another. Soon he'd made it down the hall, and then he was out of Autobot City and flying towards where the old ship used to be. Gone now, like everything else that had been there when they woke up on Earth.

How could he have been so blind? Astrotrain was supposed to be the delusional one, not him! But no, he'd dared to believe he could have Rodimus Prime to himself! Him! What was he compared to Galvatron or Ultra Magnus?

He screamed to the skies, "It was just supposed to be a protection! I wasn't supposed to care about him!"

The triple-changer curled up tightly and cut his thrusters, dropping towards the ocean. "But he's in Galvatron's arms now. The warlord has him, the warlord owns him, and I can't do anything about it!"

He couldn't take on Galvatron! He couldn't hurt Rodimus Prime for this betrayal, either. He needed the Prime's protection too much.

He straightened out before he hit the water and took off towards the upper edges of Earth's atmosphere, randomly firing laser blasts at the stars. "I don't care! I cannot care! It means nothing!"

**End**


	12. Exhausted

**Exhausted Blitzwing**

"Get some rest," he told Skyfire, patting his hull absently. He leaned against the white spaceship, too tired himself to argue if Skyfire told him to recharge too. But evidently the energy-eaters had taken more out of Skyfire than he thought as the spaceship just flashed his running lights in an affirmative, then went dark. With a whisper of metal, solar panels spiralled ope to almost completely cover Skyfire's dorsal side.

Blitzwing slid to the ground, turret screeching against Skyfire's hull. Bedamned energy leeches! They were nearing the end of their current loop, Skyfire was already low on fuel! The triple-changer had needed to transfer most of the contents of his fueltank into the spaceship for them to keep on flying out of the swarm.

But they'd gotten out, and they'd even found a good system to recharge in. The moon they'd set down on rotated at the same rate it revolved, so their side would always be in the sunlight. With the solar arrays aiding his generator, it would only take fifteen hours for Skyfire to get fully charged. Then Blitzwing could just collapse in his hold and leech off what his solar arrays collected while they soared through the system.

His chin thunked lightly against his chest. He was running on fumes, and he knew it... But someone had to keep watch. If anyone caught them now, they were dead.

Still, powering down his optics wouldn't hurt. He still had his other scanners up, after all.

* * *

"Tsk, tsk. Sleeping on watch, Blitzwing? I'm surprised at you."

That voice-! He knew that voice! Blitzwing shook his head to clear it, seething as he realized that he really had been sleeping on watch. "Look, you-"

"Oh, control your temper. There's no one to impress here." A transparent blue hand settled against his chest, and if he ran a few filters, he could just make out the rest of a red-and-white Seeker standing in the sunlight.

"Star-"

The Seeker lunged, and everything went black.

**End**


	13. Angsty

**Angsty Blitzwing**

# # #

The Travalian got Yrpaxi's attention just outside the company's vehicle-bay. "Is it just me," he whisper-whistled, "Or is our war machine sulking?"

He'd been sulking for the past month, but Yrpaxi had been doing his bloody-bedamned best to ignore it. "What do you expect me to do about it? I just run the armory."

The Travalian clicked two of his claws together. "Is he not part of the armory?"

"He's part of the crew, and you know it."

"AIs should not be drawing pay with the rest of us. Hmph." His long neck curled sinuously, and Yrpaxi could hear the snap of his inner teeth. "His emanations are unsettling Seriso, and when she is unsettled, the rest of us suffer. Find out what is ailing him and fix it."

Yrpaxi grumbled but obeyed. Sure, he certainly liked Blitzwing better than most of the rest of their crew, but it was hard to be friends with an alien war machine twice again as tall as you and better armored to boot. Still, doing _anything_ for the Travalian was galling. The chitinous bastard made his stomachs heave.

Blitzwing sat in robot-mode, leaning on one of the other tanks, with a singularly massive datapad in his hands. He glanced up briefly when Yrpaxi entered and grunted in greeting. 'Bout usual. If it weren't for the air of brooding that hung over everything, Yrpaxi wouldn't have paid him the slightest mind.

"Seriso says you're sulking." Yrpaxi cantered across the floor to stand in front of the triple-changer.

One of Blitzwing's wings twitched. "Galvatron put a bounty on Octane's head."

Okay... First name was familiar. Guy who exiled Blitzwing in the first place, and the new Decepticon overlord. Second guy? Blitzwing had never mentioned him in the few times Yrpaxi levered stories out of him. "Friend of yours?"

"Taught him a few things." Blitzwing abrubtly hurled his datapad across the vehicle-bay. "Galvatron never put a bounty on my head! I didn't betray the Decepticon cause by joining the Quintessons! I warned him the Quintessons were tricking him! I saved his life! And he exiled me! He exiled me and _forgot_ about me! He thinks I'm worthless!"

Yrpaxi felt his horns beginning to itch. "Oy gevalt... Blitzwing, did you ever think that him leaving you alone was, I'unno, a _reward_?"

Blitzwing looked at him as if he'd just crawled out of his mother's belly and was still dripping gore and filth on the ground.

"... Right, doesn't work that way with your kind. Oy." Looked like it was going to be a long ship-month.

**End**


	14. Exploring

**Exploring Blitzwing**

A/N: This takes place in the same timeline as Angsty Blitzwing.

* * *

"Why are we here again?"

Yrpaxi stomped his rearmost left foot. "To speak with the Layer of Cards, so that zie might reveal what the forces of the universe have divined of our lives to come."

Blitzwing followed after the eight-legged armory-sergeant through the bazaar that covered most of this island. He kept getting funny looks from the locals; there weren't a lot of aliens around here. Just the natives and their animals, and most of them under the covered walkways rather than out in the road. It was approaching noon, and both suns were up.

"Yeah, I get that," the triple-changer said, "But why am I here?"

"To intrigue hir into laying a spread for us free of charge."

"Oh... Heh." Blitzwing nudged a stubborn creature that looked like a scaled bison with too many legs out of his way. Captain Azure had hammered home the concept of 'you break it, you buy it' to all of his crew, and he would see your pay docked to cover whatever it was that you had destroyed. "How much further?"

"Zie usually waits at the central fountain." Yrpaxi stopped, head turning towards a weapon shop. "Go on and speak with hir. You will know hir when you see hir."

"Not a chance in the Inferno."

Yrpaxi looked up at him. "You will find hir alone. Zie does not see more than one at a time. Zie will know you are coming, if you go to hir."

Blitzwing glowered. Blitzwing argued. Blitzwing asked what the Pit that pronoun Yrpaxi kept using was. But eventually Blitzwing went to the central fountain.

A robed figure sat on one of the benches there, the spray gently touching hir robe and keeping the amorphous, tentacled creature that piped at hir feet moist. A saffron pavilion kept the suns off them, and the ground around the bench held baskets of odd sorts. Blitzwing recognized the ridged shellfish Yrpaxi kept munching on, as well as various other sea-going creatures and agricultural products. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between the two, since everything on this blasted planet seemed to think tentacles were a great evolutionary addition.

Weird. He couldn't sense below hir robe. He hunkered down, and the cowled head turned towards him. Okay, how to put this...

"So, you've come," zie fluted. "We have been waiting, Knight of Swords."

Blitzwing utterly lost his train of thought. "What?"

The piping creature at hir feet trilled merrily.

"We have been waiting," zie repeated. "You are not who we wait for, but we know you would come here. So we will lay the cards for you and interpret them, though the symbols are not as they ought to be for your race. But that deck must not be taken out until the Dawn-Star comes unto us."

"...Okay?"

Blitzwing privately decided to never again let anyone in the mercenary company take him to see the local sites on whatever planet they got leave on.

**End**


	15. Dominant: Het

**Dominant Blitzwing**

A/N: Co-written with Lunatron. Catechism belongs to Lunatron, and is used with permission.

Ficlet takes place in the timeline of the Transformers: 2005 MUSH, but should be understandable even without knowledge of what was going on. Suffice it to say, this takes place during the Intergalactic Olympics in RL 2006 and just after a mission where Blitzwing helped retrieve Galvatron from Torqulon.

* * *

Blitzwing stalked into the lobby of the hotel the Decepticons had claimed on Monacus. There was a patina to his armor, barely there splotches of organic ichor he hadn't been able to scrape off on the shuttle-ride back. Now he owed Astrotrain a complete scrubbing, but hopefully the shuttle triple-changer wouldn't try to collect for a few more days. Blitzwing had... plans.

And conveniently enough for his plans, there was Catechism fighting with the vending machine. Again. Just another conehead, this one grey and with gatling guns on her arms instead of the standard lasers.

But through optics aglow with the lust for battle and the promise of shattering a world, she was desirable. This was the mech he'd partnered with to win the prize of head of MilOps. This was the mech who could tear into him just as viciously as Astrotrain could. She had gatling guns instead of lasers, and her nosecone on her head as added armor.

He wanted to see her with fresh-spilled energon on her hands and bodies at her feet.

First, though, there were other matters to attend to. "Catechism!"

She turned, and the lines of her face, the way she carried herself seemed a bit... happier than she had been earlier. "We got our men."

"There was no other possibility." Now Blitzwing was just close enough, and he stooped a little bit, grabbed her by the hip and shoulder, and swung her up over his shoulder.

She squawked like a startled vulture and flailed, not quite enough to overbalance herself, not with the way he was holding her. "What's the big idea?"

"The big idea would be that your wings aren't gilded. So we're going to fix that." Blitzwing chuckled and patted one of her thruster-heels. She still had little bits of teal speckled over her. "Winning two gold medals like you did deserves a little extra decoration."

Catechism squirmed at the touch, shoulders rubbing against the upper edge of one of his wings. "But... but... I'll stand out a mile away! Do you have any idea how shiny that would be? Not that I'm scared, but I wouldn't want to give away our position. Unless you've got a plan for getting it off me once these games are over."

Her tailfins waggled meaningfully, and Blitzwing couldn't resist a little bit of enjoyment out there in the lobby before Ultra Magnus and everyone. He turned his head just slightly so that the vibrations in the air from his vocalizer would ping softly against her wings. "Well, there's a coupla ways to remove gold leaf from metal, y'know. It's not very tough, especially if you put it on right. A little massage does wonders."

She kicked her thruster-heels but relaxed in his grip, no longer arguing. He chuckled and carried her off to his room, eager to get his hands on those luscious wings and make her squirm all the more.

**End**


	16. On His Knees

**On-His-Knees Blitzwing**

# # #

The triple-changer knelt in the center of his cell, hands pulled high above his head by the glowing-red antigravity manacles. They'd sawed off his main barrel, and his back and wings were still scarred with plasma damage. His optic-band was cracked, dividing the view on his left. With only the glow of his optics and the manacles to light the cell, the deranged tri-view was even creepier than normal. He felt like he was back in the abandoned base on Teszar, watching the backup generators slowly empty.

But there was no energy vampires here, just an entire ship full of Autobots.

This was going to be tricky.

The blast doors covering the cell doors cracked open slightly, and the red plane minibot slithered in, an energon cube in hand. The sudden light dazzled Blitzwing, and then was mercifully blocked by the red tank minibot that was never far from Powerglide. By then, the plane had crossed to his side and nimble fingers pulled out his secondary feeding tube and attached it to the energon cube.

He drank it down gratefully, taking more than a Decepticon guard would have given an Autobot prisoner. He barely grunted when the minibot pinched the tube shut and yanked it off the cube. Not a word for the captured Decepticon, and he could usually get a couple dozen out of these two. Damn the bad luck; how the frag was he supposed to learn anything if they wouldn't talk to him?

Warpath stepped out of the way of the light, and Blitzwing's intakes hissed every so slightly as his optics went white. Then Powerglide had slipped through the door and shut it, leaving him in darkness again.

Frag this for a lark. The manacles would fry him if the Autobots realized he was out before he got them off, and he didn't see a way in the Nine Smelting Pits for Astrotrain to get him out of this. He was on his own, weaponless, and his life running on an Autobot's whim.

This was going to be **really** tricky.

**End**


	17. On Vacation

**On Vacation Blitzwing**

# # #

"It's too early in the day to be drinking the hard stuff," Octane commented.

Blitzwing glanced sidelong at his trine-mate, wondering where the jet tanker had come from. He hadn't been there a couple of hours ago, and he definitely hadn't been there when Astrotrain had stopped by a week ago. So... Sudden arrival or overcharge-induced hallucination? "When did you get here?"

"Astrotrain sent me down. Said you'd been here for three weeks, and you had six months work of leave stacked up."

"Yeah." Blitzwing growled as Octane reached for his cube of laced energon and hunched over it protectively.

"Way too early," Octane muttered.

"Shut up. It's five-o'clock somewhere."

"On the other side of the planet!" Octane bit his lower lip. "Have you been drinking this hard for the last three weeks?" He turned towards the hot pink jetcar bartender and gestured sharply. "Has he been drinking like this for the last three weeks?"

The bartender muttered assent. His armor-colors swam gently.

"... Okay." Octane gently took hold of the tank triple-changer's wrist. "Blitzwing, you need to talk to a chemist. Now. I'm surprised you haven't managed to kill yourself."

"'m fine."

"You're not. I can't even guess what the frag you've been putting into yourself, but if it's as hard as this stuff and for the last three weeks...!" Octane's grip tightened and he yanked Blitzwing away from the bar. More because his trine-mate was limp as a puddle than anything else, but he didn't complain. "And don't you dare-"

Blitzwing promptly curled around Octane, despite the other's protestations. He knew full well that he couldn't walk in this state, much less be trusted to fly.

"I can't carry you! Support some of your own weight, Blitzer!"

"Ngh."

"This is why you build up so much leave, you know. Imperial Accounting refuses to give you any until some newbie gets to make the call and he doesn't know any better than to deny you."

**End**


	18. Obedient: Kinky Het

**Obedient Blitzwing**

# # #

"Catechism..."

"Be quiet," The conehead commanded imperiously, yanking on the reins with her right hand and making Blitzwing hiss as the bit cut into his mouth. "Good little riding creatures don't talk."

Blitzwing grunted, fluid dribbling into his mouth. He swallowed it and shrugged his shoulders, feeling her legs shift and tighten around his turret. She crouched on his back, legs splayed provocatively with her wings scraping against his and her pelvis grinding against the top of his turret. She kept grabbing his gun, too, to steady herself.

He wasn't sure if that made up for the 'game' Fusillade had suggested or the bridle the bomber had just happened to have handy. It definitely didn't make up for the riding crop, which was even now being laid into his thighs.

"Yah! Forward, Blitzwing!"

"You know," he grumbled as he moved forward on his hands and knees. "I could transform into tank or jet-mode, and this'd be much easier."

"But not half so fun!"

**End**


	19. Drinking Energon: One Sided Slash

**Drinking Energon Blitzwing**

# # #

The blunt end of one of Octane's fuel-hoses circled over a spot in Blitzwing's turret, waiting for the other triple-changer to uncover his ports for the fueling. They stood beside each other, turned slightly away, under a ledge that didn't quite provide enough cover for Octane's wingtips. He kept slipping closer to Blitzwing, trying to pull his wings in under their camouflage.

The hatch in Blitzwing's turret finally spread open, and Octane slid the probe home. It twisted and locked in with a click more heard in the mind than aloud. Octane didn't begin pumping just yet, listening intently for the sound of Autobot hover-engines. But the only machine-sound was the gentle hum of the energon in his tanks and the rumble of triple-changer robot-mode hybrid engines. He couldn't even hear the distant roar of gunfire anymore, or the distortions of Seeker engines.

Wind whistled through the crack they hid in; this part of the planet was almost painfully dead, with no energy powering it at all. Octane kept tripping over things because his feet had no local energy fields to interact with and identify obstacles.

Despite his common sense and the sheer danger of the situation, Octane was trying his damnedest not to jump Blitzwing there and then. They were so close, his left wing scraped against the back of Blitzwing's left wing.

He began to pump, revelling in the barest relaxation of Blitzwing's ready stance, the stronger rumble of his engines. Blitzwing's main gun rubbed against his wing and left lines of lightning across his sensors.

But the best of it was the feeling of energon pumped from his tanks, the tight grip of Blitzwing's intake port around his probe, the pulling, demanding _hunger_ of his fellow triple-changer... It was addicting, being the one who feeds.

**End**


	20. Disheveled: Het

**Disheveled Blitzwing**

A/N: Catechism belongs to Lunatron, Photon belongs to Ravynfyre, and both are used with permission.

* * *

Catechism hammered on the door to Blitzwing's quarters with her injured hand, driving the torture-spines further into her knuckle-joints. The slivers and shards of canopy-glass embedded in her pilot array wriggled uncomfortably as she twisted back and forth to watch the hall, but she'd dialed the pain down hours ago. She wouldn't have gotten out of the first ambush otherwise, especially after the blasted tank tore her cone off.

She hoped whoever was after her wasn't smart enough to use camo. After the torturer had gotten done with her optics, she was stuck on greyscale vision. Blast it, wasn't Blitzwing **home** tonight?

The door slid open, and Catechism nearly fell into Blitzwing.

"What the frag is go-?" He broke off as the conehead squinched up in between him and the inside of the door-arch, then slammed her uninjured hand down on the door-close button.

That put her perilously close to the triple-changer, close enough to feel the waste-heat of his engines exhaled against her hips and wings. Fortunately, the dialed-down sensors meant that all she got out of that was a short report as to increased air-temperature around her wings.

Blitzwing stared down at her, visor bright and expression unreadable. "I'll repeat. What the frag is going on?"

He'd gotten camo somewhere, she noted; big swaths of darker color over the lighter ones she remembered. "DCI internal affairs matter. Under the cockpit glass."

"**Why** are you _here_, Catechism?" Blitzwing didn't step back to give her room, but he didn't step forward to crowd her still more either. She grudgingly gave him points for that.

"You're probably not one of them," she muttered.

"Blitzwing?" A sleep-soft voice asked from behind the triple-changer.

Catechism scowled and darted around Blitzwing before he could stop her, then jerked to a halt as she saw the black flathead rousing on the berth. She couldn't explain the fury that swept through her, but after everything she'd been through lately it was welcome. She whirled on her thruster-heel and slammed her uninjured fist into Blitzwing's chest. "Did you even wait before you put me on mothballs to take up with her, or was she in your hangar all along?"

He didn't even rock back, the queer-footed gamma-version. "It's been over a decade, Catechism. I don't owe you an answer to that."

Catechism didn't say anything as she stepped back and looked him over. The dark paint she'd mistaken for camouflage could just as easily be the other jet's paint fused onto his from heated love-making. She'd left patterns like that on him once.

She heard a rustling sound behind her and twisted around, bringing her remaining arm-gun to bear. No need for them to know it was broken. The black jet's optics brightened and her guns shifted from a loose ready position to point at the floor as she stood up.

"Don't start anything," Blitzwing warned, his hand settling on the patch-job she'd done to cover the back of her cranium.

"Illuminate," the black jet ordered. The lights in the room sprang on at full-intensity, and the other jet visibly winced as she got a good look at Catechism. Wimp.

"Rough bit of internal affairs," Blitzwing rumbled.

"It's under the glass, Blitzwing. It's not any of Military Operations' business," Catechism hissed.

The black jet removed a medical kit and opened it on the chest at the foot of Blitzwing's berth. "Sit down, Catechism. You need repairs."

"She's MSE?" Catechism glanced over her shoulder at Blitzwing and scowled to find him leaning against the door. Slagger.

"I am. Photon, Science division. Sit down so I can tend to your injuries."

Catechism eyed the black jet mistrustfully. Sure, she could trust Blitzwing not to be involved in what was going on - Blitzwing was as subtle as a tank. This little science flathead, though, she was an unknown quantity.

On the other wing, Catechism had run **here** of all places, because after what went down between her and Blitzwing, not even the people she suspected would think she'd go to him. That final scene in Ten-Cycles had been too recent. She still heard whispers behind her back about it.

"Yeah, sure." Catechism edged over to the berth, then quickly flipped her wings up so she could sit down comfortably. That was one of the benefits of having short wings - she didn't look **too** silly seated.

Photon carefully selected a set of tweezers and a small tray, then began to remove the shards and slivers of glass from Catechism's cockpit. The conehead thanked her dialed-down sensors - now was not the time to feel the gentle soft touches over her pilot array as anything other than a set of numbers telling her how many pounds per square inch the black jet was applying.

"MSE, eh? I thought almost all your toys were MilOps." Catechism smirked as Blitzwing's optics flashed.

"Catechism-"

"You mentioned you were with Intelligence earlier," Photon interrupted the triple-changer's growl, pulling another long shard out of Catechism's pilot array. "But you're not built like the spy-planes I've seen."

"None of your business," Catechism informed her.

Blitzwing grinned nastily. "She's a Mayhem."

To her credit, all the black jet did was brighten her optics. "Ah." She bent to the task of pulling glass from Catechism's cockpit silently for a few moments, then glanced up uncertainly at the conehead. "I was under the impression that Mayhems and the Ten did not get along... But the way you two talk-"

Catechism stuffed down the urge to press back from the other jet. Even if that question always did get her hackles up. "It was a bad idea from the beginning."

"Ain't my fault you wanted what I couldn't give," Blitzwing growled.

"Wouldn't," she insisted.

"Couldn't."

"I see," Photon murmurred. "Blitzwing, I'm likely to be here for a while. Could you please get us a few cubes?"

'Please?' Catechism mouthed in bafflement, staring down at the scarily-polite black jet. Please didn't work on Blitzwing. Please hadn't gotten her the wingmate she'd wanted.

"Yeah." Blitzwing punched open the door with more force than necessary and stalked out. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Catechism alone with the wing-up stuckup that had a baffling influence over the triple-changer.

She couldn't deal with this right now. Not on top of everything else. And, she realized, she didn't have to deal with this. Once Photon repaired her and she got some energon in her tanks, she could go get a few other Military Operations folk she knew and take care of the conspiracy in DCI. Fast, hard, and below the canopy glass where no one could see it.

**End**


	21. Silly: Post G1, Pre Beast Wars

**What's Left of the Flag**

Author's Notes: Song lyrics borrowed from "What's Left of the Flag" as performed by Flogging Molly, and "Come Out Ye Black and Tans" as performed by the Brobdingnagian Bards.

* * *

"Walk away, me boys, walk away, me boys, and by morning we'll be free! Wipe that golden tear from your mother dear, and raise what's left of the flag for me!" Three, no two, voices rose up in chorus, loud and cheerful for all that it was a death-song. The curious double-voice sang the song itself, while the single voice sang the instruments.

The two ex-Decepticons, red slashes over their purple symbols, sat outside on a pair of broken crates, optics too dim for them to be over-charged. Their guards looked confused, but since the the ex-'cons were singing in English, that wasn't surprising. Irritating, Goldbug thought, but not surprising. Ever since Earth had made it clear that they didn't want the Cybertronians around, people seemed to be trying hard to forget about it.

_Stupid_, he'd say if anyone asked, but no one did. He was one of the Ark Autobots, and he was supposed in retirement and let the newer models decide how the world should be run. The fact that he and Cliffjumper and most of the other minibots had turned political instead of retiring seemed to stick in the craw of the so-called Council of Elders.

Goldbug sauntered over to them and stood just outside the guard perimeter to listen. It was a little disturbing to realize that Blitzwing and Astrotrain were the two largest people around. Everyone else seemed to be moving for a smaller and smaller forms, but someone (Warpath and Powerglide, as he recalled) had gotten it hammered through into law that the Autobots couldn't force their Decepticons prisoners to be rebuilt. They had to choose it on their own.

He wondered how long it would take someone to realize that they could starve the Decepticon prisoners into accepting rebuilds. Triple-changers, especially, used a lot of fuel compared to the standard size of Autobots these days.

The two Decepticons fell silent, optics on him, their song ended.

Goldbug touched his helm in a human salute. "Come out, ye black and tans."

The raucuous laughter of the triple-changers followed him the rest of the way across the spaceport docks.

**End**


	22. Daring

**Daring Blitzwing**

# # #

The powered armor suit perched on top of Blitzwing's turret and spoke with a female voice, "So do you usually try to solo Quintesson battle-cruisers?"

"No," he groaned.

"I didn't think so." She patted his barrel in a misguided attempt at comfort. "That's pretty damn near suicidal."

"Yeah." He'd probably die from his wounds without medical attention. Good way to go for a Decepticon; valiantly vanquishing the enemy despite overwhelming odds. The squishy mercenary company joining in he could have lived without, but they did ensure that the job got done.

"Oh, was that what you were trying to do? Well, if it was, Ifni tossed you life. Ship's engineer is on her way over, and she'll fix you up." Another pat, this one in an area that didn't hurt quite as much as the rest of him.

Blitzwing's translator failed to come up with any sensible alternatives to 'Ifni tossed you life'. Must be a cultural reference it didn't recognize. "Who's Ifni?"

"The archangel God appointed to see that his universe keeps running. The Dice-Roller."

**Definitely** a cultural reference he didn't recognize.

**End**


	23. Playing With Kids

**Playing With Kids Blitzwing**

# # #

"It's not fair," Brawl grumped, glaring up at where Starscream stood next to Megatron.

Blitzwing glanced at the other tank, then up at their commanders. What'd he do to get stuck as a ground troop today? Oh, right, he was one of the few sane ground troops Megatron had.

"Not fair," Brawl said again. "We got stuck in a filing cabinet for six million years, and he just gets patted onna head and told it's all right."

Blitzwing looked up at Starscream. "He says that too, you know. That there isn't any justice in the universe, otherwise he'd be the leader of the Decepticons by now and not Megatron."

The Combaticon glared at him, fists clenching. "He ain't anything like us-!"

"Sure, he is." Those were fighting words, and Blitzwing knew it. Might as well say the rest of it before Brawl tried to faceplant him. "You're both stupid enough to want justice from the universe. If you were smart-" He dodged a punch from the tank. "-You'd ask for mercy. Sure as shooting, the mercy of the universe-" He side-stepped and let the Combaticon charge past him. "-Is the only reason Starscream got Megatron as his commander. No one else'd be so merciful after the stunts he's pulled."

Brawl growled wordlessly, dark rage audible, and charged again. Blitzwing met him with a fierce joy, knowing he'd get hurt and accepting it.

"It's not fair," Blitzwing ground out as they grappled. "If it was, you'd be back in the filing cabinet. That's _justice_."

**End**


	24. Greedy: Het

**Greedy Blitzwing**

A/N: Photon belongs to Ravynfyre and is used with permission.

# # #

Blitzwing stared up at the ceiling, uncomfortable under the weight of the sleeping dark Seeker sprawled across his chest. Nothing much he could do about it, and nothing much he wanted to do about it. Just wasn't easy laying on his turret. He just kept an arm between his head and his gun so he wouldn't have cricked neck servos in the morning.

He liked Photon. She was shy, and she got flustered when he flirted. She went all melty when he fondled her. Most of her friends and family thought he was no good and wanted to kill him, or at least chase him off.

He couldn't wrap his arms around her, though. Not like the last Seeker female he held and kissed. With _her_, he could wrap his arms around her all the way and pull her so tightly close, both of them knowing it wasn't a trap because she could take him three falls out of six. He wouldn't be lying awake after a session, either. He might be in Medical, though, waiting for Scavenger to stop sniggering at him.

_That_ Seeker would probably kill him if she ever saw him again. More for deserting the Decepticons than for what had happened ten years ago, but what had happened ten years ago would probably make her take it slow.

Photon nestled closer to him, the edge of an intake rubbing against his cheek. He blew into it absently and tried to put the mental image of her astride Photon out of his head. She would never have gone for it.

Still, it was sexy as sin. Even more so if he got to join in.

**End**


	25. Transforming

**Transforming Blitzwing**

* * *

"Look sharp!" Blitzwing snapped and dove to the side as a burst of blaster-fire smashed into the area where he had been. He snapped into tank-mode to return the favor.

Skyfire didn't move quite fast enough, and one white leg was left blackened and smoking. The big spacer frowned, then drew out his gun.

Blitzwing's barrel charged with energy, and he blew apart the assassin's cover. The assassin was a little bit tougher and faster, so while Skyfire's own shot went where he meant to put it, the assassin wasn't there.

Maybe not assassin, Blitzwing mentally revised. He didn't think either of them had done anything to earn an assassination attempt. 'Course, that didn't mean he was right or anything.

His turret tracked the assassin as he leapt for a different bit of cover, blasts from his barrel always just behind the other mech's wingtips.

Blitzwing shifted to jet-mode and took off, closing the distance between himself and the assassin. The other mech transformed to jet-mode as well, bog-standard Seeker with the most boring purple and grey colors in the universe. He took off and Blitzwing gave chase.

His Foxbat-form was pretty ungainly-looking, but what a lot of other Transformers forgot or just didn't know was it was designed for catching Nightbirds. Didn't really work at that, but with his added Decepticon boosts, the form was a lot higher performance than bog-standard Seeker.

He didn't hit the other Transformer. That was a Ramjet thing. He just dropped into tank-mode on top of the assassin.

**End**


	26. Excited: Het

**Excited Blitzwing**

A/N: Photon belongs to Ravynfyre and is used with permission.

* * *

Blitzwing slung his arm around Photon's waist and bent her backwards with the force of his kiss. One wing was all but torn off and leaning fluid from the broken pipings. Every movement was muted agony, thank you for being able to dial-down pain circuits, Constructicons, as gravity tried to tear that wing the rest of the way off.

A massive puncture went clear through his other wing, there were hand-shaped dents in the barrel of his tank gun, and his turrent was wrenched off of true on his back. He limped, one leg bent in a way it shouldn't quite go.

Photon didn't look much better, and it was fingers worn down to struts that clutched at his helm, and the shards of her cockpit steelglass ground into his chest.

"Beautiful day to be alive, isn't it?" She murmured when she broke the kiss.

"You should see the other guy," Blitzwing responded, picking her up and all but throwing her over his shoulder. "Let's go celebrate."

**End**


	27. Happy

**Happy Blitzwing**

* * *

As far as bars in the middle of nowhere went, Rick's on Planet Junk didn't get much closer to nowhere. It also had a pretty good atmosphere, if you liked crazy, possibly cannibalistic if you didn't keep an eye on 'em, mostly incomprehensible Transformers. Blitzwing liked that kind of thing just fine, and besides most Junkions would leave him alone as long as he left them alone.

Which meant not getting involved with their weird rituals, not pissing off the local cop by looking at her funny, and avoiding Bedlam, but since half the planet seemed to avoid Bedlam, he didn't feel like a wuss for doing that.

The thing was, it was a bar in the middle of nowhere. Blitzwing had specifically picked it to be a bar in the middle of nowhere, where no one would look for him while he tried to figure out his options. Captain Azure had passed back to join his people (it really wasn't possible for a super-intelligent shade of the color blue to **die**), Azure's Idolators were gone, Cybertron belonged to the Autobots, Earth had told all Transformers to get the hell out of Dodge if they wanted to live, and the Decepticons were just... not there anymore.

There were rumors of them. But Blitzwing had no idea who was even in charge, and no desire to go find out.

What the hell was he supposed to do with himself?

"Blitzwing?" A familiar double-voice asked, sounding cautiously hopeful.

Blitzwing lifted his head, swiveled at the hip, then leapt off his bar-stool as he caught sight of Astrotrain standing in the doorway. The other triple-changer twisted to fit his wings through the door, then they were pounding each other's backs and laughing, arms wrapping tight around necks, and talking over each other. Straight Decepticon dialect, and it only took half an hour for them to tell each other all about the last hundred years.

Then Blitzwing bought his buddy a drink, and Astrotrain patted his tank-barrel, and hey, they had the whole universe together again.

**End**


	28. At the Beach

**At the Beach Blitzwing**

***

"Screw it," Blitzwing said in the middle of Starscream's mission briefing. He pushed off from the wall and walked out the door, ignoring the sudden shrieking from the white jet. The other people in the room acted as shields against Starscream's null-rays, and Blitzwing was around three corners by the time Starscream got to the doorway.

Like he cared. He'd have taken the shrieky jet on if Starscream **had** actually tried to stop him.

He left the Decepticon ship through the Combaticons' bay instead of through the main tower and waded off through the water. A few hours later, he walked out onto shore. He transformed and shook himself, rotating his turret all the way around. Transformed again and shook himself, working his flaps and elevators. Transformed back to robot-mode and stared up at the yellow star.

"Screw this," he repeated. "I'm not wasting another day on an insane plan that's just going to blow up in our faces. Not until Starscream apologizes for being such a chickenshit coward."

He glared at the empty beach on general principles. Stupid beach. Stupid fleshlings. Stupid organic planet. Stupid Starscream and his stupid 'Of course I'll be with you, you've got nothing to worry about!'

Stupid him for listening.

Blitzwing growled. Astrotrain was going to laugh himself sick when he got back. So was Octane. _They_ always saw right through his 'I meant to do that and I'm so 'ard you don't dare laugh' posturing that cowed the stupid jets.

Seriously, Mixmaster was a bastard, and Blitzwing was this close to snapping the little jackwipe's neck for painting him primary colors.

**-End-**


End file.
